Shades of Blue
by Tyraelproject
Summary: Angels? Demons! Eventual Dante, Eventual Vergil. AU set in the Devil May Cry Universe. And what can I say? I hate cultists.
1. Evening Job

I do not own the universe of Devil May Cry, as much as I find their essential badassery and hottitude inspiring. This is a story set in that universe. Call it AU if you will, though I use the canon on occasion. This takes place after DMC 1, ignoring DMC 4 and DMC 2 for the moment.

There are also angels, as well as demons, and we'll have to see how THAT particular thing turns out. -Evil grin-

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I hate cultists.

That is to say, I'm not exactly giant smiles and lollipops with the rest of the workaday masses of humanity but cultists in particular.

They remind me of teenagers huddled in their parents basement, their own private kingdom crafted from a dumptruck of paper and empty soda cans. Their reality defined by some pictures and deep, meaningful words found in a series of ever increasingly important texts that must be treated with the proper gravity.

Stupid.

You also unfortunately can't take a twelve gauge to them. Lots of splatter, lots of mess. Demons? No cleanup time. Blood sealed in neat little packages. The occasional welcome blue or green orb from their last meal. Demons are crackerjack boxes, prize inside. Cultists are.. gooey, and easily fall into monologuing. Oh, how I should despair.. cleanse the wicked, the end of times, lifted up into paradise... if I had a nickel..

Spyder goes through an equipment check a last time before she reaches the warehouse, looking down from the edge of a nearby building. That lookout seems so bored, standing out there in the open near a light source. Now where's your buddy? Don't tell me your.. ah yes, over there. Next obvious place. Spyder sighs, maneuvering over the rooftop then across.

A small twist of one hand summons a sleek little gun as she watches the white clothed lookout turn, peer myopically into the darkness for awhile and drop like a stone, a small black dart embedded in his neck. The other doesn't't see it coming either. A little poison, a little paralysis.

It's a good thing.

Alot of hunters I know do two things. Guns blazing or thoughtless stealth, more easily labeled cunning's stupider cousin. Spyder checks the ropes, long sticky black strands pulled out like thick taffy from a small orb at her belt. The gooey black setting into something like springy concrete as she lashes them sitting up against the warehouse wall, a slash of black keeping them from sounding any alarms. The poison should keep them knocked out for the duration, but she hadn't lived so long trusting her life to words like should.

It'll be easier inside. Faster. This was the harder part.. being careful, working as far into the compound as possible without being detected THEN crashing the party. The longer she could hold this up, the easier it'd be to fight her way out through the cultists and whatever they would have managed to summon by the time she got down there. Spyder took a steadying breath, vaulting herself up onto a spill of boxes that lead back onto the warehouse roof and a shattered window whistling faintly in the steady breeze.

Silence from inside the warehouse, followed by the sharp clinking of broken glass as the rest of the frame follows the rest. More silence broken by a quiet thump and rustle of clothes against eachother. Choking noises, and Spyder drags the third sentry across the floor to lean against some boxes draped over by a tarp. This one was robed. Apparently, street clothes fell out of fashion some time.. ah shit. Spyder lifted the sleeve inspecting the crest. The Sacred. This just got a sudden boost up into serious.

She ruffles through the voluminous pockets, stripping robe of it's contents. Aha. Ward key. Wards took time, took energy. If she'd thought it was the Sacred down here, she would have brought better guns. "Oh well." Spyder ties this one to the boxes as well, with the tarp over them. Maybe it wouldn't't even hold them long. They'd been known to pull all kinds of magical shit in the past. Still.. on the clock here. Backing out means not getting paid, and that meant a cascade of Really Bad Things. Spyder twists her hands, summoning a pair of matte black guns into her hands as she stalks down the corridor towards the stairs leading downward, smaller pistol evaporating back into it's pocket dimension. Okay. Well, she could play serious too.

It was when she hit hostages that things really started to go downhill. There were lots of them, mostly zonked out on whatever they'd been given to keep them quiet. No trace of the one she'd been contracted to find. She'd been tracking them halfway across the city and only NOW did she figure out it was them? Shit. Sloppy.. so sloppy. She'd wanted it to be simple. Emo kids. College punks. Not sorcerers... anything but sorcerers. Sorcerers bridged that neat little dividing line between demons and cultists, meaning more work and STILL no prize..

Mandibles were supposed to do two things. Tangle up those who were too fast to put medium sized holes into, and the aforementioned medium sized holes in things. By the time she got through the fifth cultist, and their webbed body slumped to the bare concrete she realized that Mandibles STILL made a hell of a lot of noise in these small labyrinths of small concrete rooms and voluminous loading docks.. and that the spells sewn into her armor were going to fail if they stood up to anything but the weak fire and acid spells these thugs were slinging. "Hey.. Hey.. Damnit." she nudged one of the bound hostages whose eyes stared at nothing at all. Breathing dead weight. She'd have to come back for them. The cultists wouldn't kill them. Couldn't kill them. Blood was a sacrilege to the things they worshiped. The runes were getting thicker, which meant she was going to need that ward key real soon.

Acid splattered against the bare concrete in half a dozen places, bubbling and hissing and making the ground treacherous now that there were giant scaffolds stretched across the long room half filled with innumerable nameless boxes and chunks of unused machinery. Forklifts. Part of a catwalk sagged, making an awful racket as it clattered against the shelves as it fell. The boxes were useful though, blocked the shots. At least they weren't stupid enough to use fire here. Grazed her fingers there, ow ow.. ahh.. hot! Spyder shook out her hand, the constant steady thumping of an active blue orb keeping her fingers from being eaten away as the glove leather smoked. Four left. Duck behind that shelf, vaulting up higher towards the catwalks. Three left, acid eating away at the supports. She gave it a swift kick, snapping it then climbing up into the upper portions.. riding the giant shelf to where it smashed against the catwalk. Trenchcoat sizzles again from a near miss, grey ash filtering down to ground level as the acid was burnt away by the protection wards.

There's still too many, and the resumption of gunfire along with spellfire wasn't helping any. Spyder threw herself across the catwalk, into a low roll taking her off the edge.. one of the black guns evaporated, leaving her hand free to snag the edge of the catwalk, other hand already tracking.. aiming.. two left. One left, toppling off the edge of the shelving into the boxes. Spyder dropped down into a crouch, rolling away from the gunfire pinning her to this stand of boxes. The sound of movement, trying to get a bead on her position around the boxes. A round drills itself through her shoulder, piercing her cover as she made her way around the other side. Shit! Snap up, both Mandibles in hand as she made the gesture. One, two three.. still didn't go down. Spyder threw herself to the ground as they lined up another ensorceled shot. No cover. Nowhere to hide. Got to move. Spyder hissed between grit teeth, throwing herself away from the boxes as they suddenly exploded, wooden shrapnel peppering her trenchcoat producing more ash but slower now, the spell wearing itself out. Good. I've pissed them off.

What follows is an extended game of cat and mouse. It takes too long, seemingly forever to take this last one down.. probably a lieutenant. Still got the big bad to go and already drained her active orb dry. In the silence of the wrecked storage room she quickly swaps them out, still flinching from the pain in her shoulder as the blue orb healed the wound. They took a risk. They took a risk with the guns spilling her blood over the floor, which meant she was too far from the summoning grounds or it didn't matter anymore. Bad mojo. Spyder slung herself up to the catwalk again, making her way across the twisted construct to the heavily warded door. Touching the ward key to the correct place in the design unlocked it, allowed her entrance inside.. and immediate she heard screams.. horrible screams.

Oh yes. Bad.. bad mojo.

More hostages here, the freshest of the crop. They weren't drugged for storage and so the sight of a woman in black and purple approaching them with the same inclination to swerve as an oncoming freight train caused them to start screaming, especially as she put a mid sized hole in their captor's head, aiming high as to not hit the captives. Blood splatters. Good.. they wouldn't eat stained food. Why hadn't they put up a fight? She wouldn't thought surprise had gone right out the window already. Some of the hostages were still whimpering and screaming. "Shut up!" Spyder knelt down, and it's a wonder when the light turns on in their eyes.. and immediately you go in the space of a instant from gun toting madwoman to blessed savior. The bonds weren't very tight, most of them weren't even bound.. just held by the threat of the single robed man.

That's not professional.. it's just.. sloppy. That didn't make sense. "What are you looking at?! Get out of here!" shoving and needling them like dogs that had been kicked too much or not enough. Why did they always pull those grateful faces? Those fake, damsel in distress faces especially the woman with the brown hair standing there staring at her stumbling over her words. Pointing into the darkness of the corridor, to the furthest depths. They'd already taken some of the others, including a little boy. "Yes. yes, that's very nice. I'll see what I can do. Thank you.. now follow the others." A little nod, reassured. Stupid. The others were probably already dead by now. Wait.. she went back through her memories. That's the mark. There was a razor edge tingling feeling, a cold shudder running up and down her spine of powerful magic. Very powerful.

It's game over. She should just cut her losses, make sure the nice little rich girl got somewhere safe and take the money. She glanced down the corridor. No.. NO. Focus, think of the job. You've done the job. That's it. Let some other guy clean up this mess. Someone better armed. Someone willing to deal with the Host. She moved towards the doors with the screams continuing, scraping like claws down the back of her jacket..

Don't be a hero, Spyder. Focus. Past the warded room now, into the abandoned storeroom where the others were helping eachother across the battlefield. She barked at them occasionally, distractedly, when they were about to do something too stupid. The rich girl staying close to her when she caught up again, glancing nervously at her every once in awhile with such anguish on her face to hear the screams.

She'd been her once. Spyder rubbed her face as they made their way back to the drugged hostages. In a nice cozy family full of meaningless things. Wealth means nothing to a zealot. Life means nothing to a zealot. Don't look back.. "Why aren't you doing anything?" the woman pleaded. Spyder restrained the urge to slap her. Knock some reality into her shallow, empty mind. Knock some sense into that small squealing little voice pleading for her to hurry the hell up before something really nasty showed up. Cursing her self preservation instinct for being too weak.

"Shut up. Just.. go. Get the others out of here, for sparda's sake use a cellphone! Call the police." "But.. but.." Spyder growled at her, intimidation winning over the woman's need to be heard. The hunter digs out her own phone, passing it over as she turns away from them. "I knew I should have brought a spellcracker." Nice little weapon.. paid almost a fortune in red orbs to have it. Sliced through magical protections and wards like soggy pancakes. She wasn't much for melee... but it was a very nice little toy. Now I'm going to have to get another cellphone. Beats getting another motorcycle like the LAST job..

The crackling, tingling feeling grew stronger and she saw the first of the robed corpses upon returning to the dark corridor, white dust poking out from underneath the folds, shards of bone glittering in the sand. When she discovers others she figures they were trying to escape with the hostages, the reason she hadn't been immediately overwhelmed in the firefight. They'd already lost control of the situation. Please let it be lower caste.. a godlion, or a divine slave.. Spyder felt that creepy little voice again, the one that piped up when there was the unknown ahead.

The little voice that whispered it'd be damn near common sense to ditch this job. Why did she look back when she knew NEVER to look back? Why.. she sighed. "Why not.." whispered to herself as she approached the door, fingers lightly pressed to the surface guns at the ready. The door swung inward, a pale bluish white illuminating the relatively small room completely covered in runic chalk. The chalk was on fire near the center of the room, where a perfect portal of bluish white fire gave her the first glimpse of what she was dealing with.

Shit. Not lower caste.

Spyder had roughly about five seconds before the inquisitor noticed her presence and acted accordingly. In that time she saw the robes near the center, presumably the summoning crew.. the runic robe of the leader, also an empty husk. Her mind couldn't wrap around it at the time, but it almost looked like a demon was menacing a small boy in the corner covered in a black spill of fabric. The other hostages were dead, dust like the cultists. What was a Pride demon doing here? Then there wasn't any more time, and the inquisitor was on her before she could even get off more than two shots which it shrugged off effortlessly.

Don't look at it! Don't look at it, don't let it touch you. Spyder threw herself backwards through the doorway again, firing the whole time the bullets thumping hollowly against the inquisitors white armor, some of it getting through.. mostly not. It walked unhurriedly towards her. Spyder sucked her breath in with a gasp as she stared through her perpetual vision, white feathers fluttering to the ground. She rolled back onto feet with every impulse screaming for her to run.

She lined up one more shot, three bullets slamming in succession into a pristine white mask. It staggered momentarily, enough for her to turn.. start to run. It was already ahead of her, and she barreled straight into it. She went limp, it's hands the only things keeping her upright, glassy eyes staring into nothing. "Shhh.. it'll be alright." went it's liars voice as it pulled her back to her feet.

Hand held and dragging her feet slightly like a petulant child, the hunter followed the inquisitor back towards the other room. "You do know that dress looks brilliant on you, right Sarah?" Spyder rolls her glassy eyes, staring off into the distance. "Well, I thought.. camo pants and a grungy sweater would be inappropriate." "A little, but you'd draw jealous stares if you wore an orange sack." "I think I have one of those if you'd like, Daniel."

The Inquisitor snapped it's fingers upon entering the room, but it's servant did not answer the call. The Pride was in fact in the opposite corner clawing madly at it's face and shoulders with stick thin talons while the boy sat in the corner huddling underneath the black sheets, large broken shards of the demon's sword embedded in the fabric. Another snap, and the pride tore itself away from it's single minded task but did not approach rocking back and forth, body twitching and jerking like a marionette on broken strings. It was a momentary lapse of attention, in which Spyder saw flashing across her eyes the flash of a gun going off in a dark room, the gun shots reverberating about in her head as Daniel.. or what had been Daniel, fell dead to the floor.

In her hand was the shaking gun.

When the inquisitor returned it's attentions to her, the Pride kneeling at it's feet she jerked slightly turning her face away and down as if she was still trapped in the throes of their control. Before her mind slipped away again she bit hard into the side of her cheek, feeling the soothing touch of it's fingers drawing her face back upwards again. Staring into the featureless mask cracked slightly she spat hot blood into the face she was desperately clawing at her sanity not to worship.

The spell snapped. Spyder dropped to her knees in a sudden wash of weakness, grinning viciously to herself as the creature screamed.. a high, musical note heavy with rage as she palmed a knife from her boot and with the high, nasty laugh of the spiteful victor stabbed herself through the stomach with it, ripping raggedly across and slumping to the ground in a pool of blood. "Sorry.." Spyder gasps, thinking with her last threads of consciousness two things. One.. that gold orb.. she'd have to thank Marcus for that.. and two... oh.. she was going to be sore when she woke up. "to be such a bother to your..evil...plots...bastard.." The runes breaking apart as her vision dimmed, the bluish white flare consuming her sight as the creature screamed in horrible frustration. The seal ruined, it snapped out of this existence with the fury of a captive star.

And then the lights went out.


	2. Late Nights

I do not own the universe of Devil May Cry, as much as I find their essential badassery and hottitude inspiring. I do however own the original characters of these fics, beginning with Spyder and Marcus, and the others for which there are many and various, as many as the colors in an oil slick leaking from my car.

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Thank god for nosy neighbors. Because trudging home with a fifteen year old kid dragging along a black sheet like he wouldn't be separated from it for the world does a world of wonders for my saintly patience. It was Mr.Grubbs again, sticking his thick pudgy fingers into the business that was entirely NOT his business.

Still.. he probably just complains because he clings to the idea of this being a good neighborhood. She'd seen him a couple times, playing nice for his grandkids who visited. He just wanted things to be okay, and her presence was a little reality kicking over his white picket fences. She can sort of get behind that, so she doesn't immediately plaster the back of his skull with his nose for the sinister insinuations he was slathering over her about the boy, and how she had strange visitors at all hours at the night and was that blood? Why hadn't she taken that boy to the hospital.. and so on.

He looked so young cowering there in the corner. Spyder brushed the black hair out of the boy's face as she shifted her weight. Her neighbor briefly stops in his tirade about her pandora's box assortment of strange behaviors to be disconcerted by the way she handles the teenager as easily as a paper sack.

Fear makes everybody do that I guess... look so young. So stupid.. he should have bailed. She should have been alone there, or dead should reinforcements have came. Hell. even the police weren't fond of hunter vigilantism. It was somewhat out of the stink of jealousy, the fact that they couldn't act autonomously and sometimes the bribes some of them took to look the other way..

Lucked out again, it seems. The spells will have be rewoven again, mending spells restored..and the groceries.. she forgot the groceries again. Spyder laughs softly to herself smiling a little as she cradles the boy in her arms. Her mirth and inattention to his steely conviction caused her neighbor to splutter in undisguised rage. "Y.. You haven't listened to a word I've said!" Spyder flicks her eyes up briefly, shifting her weight so that the boy was slung over her shoulder.

"Gerald.. I've had a tough night. Can we pick this up later?" She's in the process of pushing past him when he makes the mistake of grabbing her arm. The drywall cracks where he hits the wall, firmly clasped by the cardigan. "Don't." with that last warning she tiredly makes her way up the stairs, fumbling for the keys inside her tattered jacket. Distantly she hears threats to call the police and the apoplexy of a small gnoll of a man she left behind her. "Tell them I said Hi." Spyder nudges her way into her apartment, just a temporary shelter really until she could find another building.. far away. Very far away.

"Okay honey. Let's set you down somewhere."

The immediate next question was 'Where?' out of the habit of small, grungy looking apartments to be lacking in the space required for her to live in herself let alone someone else. Who knows, Gerald could probably trick up some cock and bull story about me kidnapping the kid. The police will come bust down my door. That'd be fun. Let me get some food in me first. Small, grungy looking furniture lay stacked with empty food boxes.

Cardboard crates of various of magical paraphernalia add to the clutter, constricting the already small space. Every available horizontal surface, corner and window ledge was decorated with at least one or more small ceramic plates describing intricate runes. Knocking the detritus of an empty week from the couch, she puts the boy down moving from corner to corner checking the wards.

The room abruptly swam. She was still nursing the ringing headache that armored bastard had given her, the last vestiges still clinging like fog. Instead of dwell, she moved off to the kitchen. She needed a drink.

It occurred to her halfway through a shockingly cold cup of iced tea that she didn't know what exactly to DO with the kid. What was she supposed to do, take him to the police? Oh yea.. that'd go over real well. Had he been left behind by someone.. one of the drugged hostages? Were they just waking up now, and can't find him? What if he had nobody? She hadn't found any identification on him. Wallet, cellphone.. something. No. Nothing to tell her anything about him at all. Hadn't flinched crossing the wards else she would have thought, maybe, that it was a setup.. some sort of extraplanar timebomb. Maybe it was there, just not the intent. Not yet. That's what the wards were based on anyways..

Nothing made any sense. A lower caste Pride demon working with a upper caste Inquisitor angel? Spyder roved the small kitchen with her tea clutched in hand, leaning head against the refrigerator as she tried to make the world have some common sense again by force of will. Without that, a shower.. so needing a shower now, and to peel off this armor to get the blood out. Not so bad really this time, that way anyways but so tired.. just wanted to crash after being paid but the kid.. she had to stay alert, stay awake unless he was still booby trapped or at least tried to filch something stupid. Shower first, thoughts.. yes, thoughts later.

About half an hour later, scrubbed, reclothed and already halfway through a second sandwich she waited for a new batch of coffee to boil. She finally perched on the floor near the couch, moving in to take a better look at the reason she hadn't just left him there in the warehouse. Gingerly she examines the several large shards of icy metal stuck like shrapnel in the boy's arm.

There'd been some other detritus in the sheets, which from closer range seems more definitively a cloak but they must have fallen free from the carrying. Apparently in the short distance she'd traveled through lala land, the Pride Demon had broken it's weapon while harassing the boy.. this being the 4th or 5th impossible thing before breakfast. She wasn't sure. Demon weapons don't break. They either were extensions of the demon in question or form the very core essences of their being. This is why some hunters came to possess small collections of 'devil arms'.. the things just don't break like this. Spyder passes a hand over the shards which fitfully glow blue for a second, the last spluttering embers of demonic energy.

This is bad. Especially when she didn't know the answer to the obvious question.. why did it break? The kid didn't give off any dangerous vibes in particular, but then neither did angels or their divine slaves. Hmm. Her thoughts were interrupted by the phone which she dug around in her jean pockets for until she realized. Oh yeah. No cellphone. Shit. It's another ring or three before she roots through the junk in one corner to excavate the phone. "Yeah?" "Hey donut. Have a good night?" Spyder rolls her eyes, leaning up against the wall and slipping down to a kneeling sit on the door.

"Oh. It's you. What do you want?" "Really, I'm curious." Spyder sighs. "Your going to gloat again, aren't you." The voice over the phone turns slightly smug as if already knowing the answer to his next question. "Do I have reason to?" The hunter groans, settling in to get marginally more comfortable. She gnaws at the remains of the sandwich to keep from answering. When it's gone, she grudgingly admits. "Thank you." A small whoop of triumph causes her to jerk head away from phone momentarily. "See? I told you.. and what do we say?" A thump as Spyder's head impacts the wall. "Come on. That was the deal. You admit that craven, cowardly runehashers like myself aren't the source of all evil occasionally.. if what I gave you helped you out." The sarcasm in the sorcerer's voice made her ear sloppily wet as it dripped over the phone. Spyder finally sighs. "Fine. You did good, Marcus. Your not so bad. I reserve judgment on the rest." Apparently he's graceful in victory, so Marcus ignores the way the confession is hissed tightly through grit teeth. "Want to talk about it?" Spyder gets up cradling the phone as she goes to fetch coffee.

"No."

"Well then, how about--" Spyder grunts monosyllabicly as she hangs up the phone in midsentence. Arrogant, cocky little man.. waited half the evening just for the pleasure of extracting some gloating? She continues muttering about the very nasty things she'd like to do to sorcerers while stalking the kitchen, glaring in annoyance at the little machine's inability to produce caffeine quickly enough. Activity from the other room froze her motion briefly, and she backtracks to the small living space where the boy was moving restlessly in his sleep face etched with a distant pain. That reminded her."Why does he always have to call and distract me?" Quickly, she fetched a few things by rummaging around in the boxes of unpacked goods, eyes always on her 'guest' in the meanwhile. Those shards had to be dealt it. It was a serious possession risk, and a battle inside her apartment was likely to be short, bloody and all over the place. Bad news for her security deposit, to be sure.

On closer inspection some of that blue aura had already seeped into the wounds, small jagged veins moving inward like creeping infection. She tied the arm off at the elbow with sanctified cloth. It was a joke really. A further joke on commonly used 'holy water' whose ingredients belonged more in a chemistry lab than a church. It was more commonly called mithra, by anybody who knew a damn thing. When she was satisfied it was tight enough, she got on her gloves dipping the tips into a little tray of mithra before approaching the largest shard.

She expected it to resist. Flinch back, dig deeper in, try to slice her hand like usual possessed objects.. yet at the touch, the shard started to dissolve. The metal was so brittle, flaking away like bluish ash. How could this ever have been a demon weapon, let alone a devil arm? You take a satisfactory thwack at one with a good solid sword, nothing.. maybe a little scratch. What was that line from Alice? Yes... curiouser and curiouser. The ash didn't seem to heighten the infection or corrode in any way. It was just.. dust, carefully brushed away onto a towel she'd later soak thoroughly in mithra. The other shards are the same. As careful as she is trying to pull them out, a touch was all it took to dissolve them away leaving the ragged puncture wounds behind caked with ash and dried blood.

"Well, we'll have this cleaned up soon." "Uuuoof.." Spyder tightened her grip, nails digging slightly into the bound arm as the boy fitfully opens his eyes, blinking sluggishly.. eyes seeing, but not really seeing her or the apartment. A few moments later, they cleared. Another blink. "Oh.." a soft, muddled sound of surprise. "I.. saw you before, didn't I? That wasn't a nightmare?" Spyder pursues her lips, trying not to smile grimly. "Depends on your perspective. It's okay now, for the moment. What's your name?"

A long silence and she frowns not because he's keeping the answer from her but because it looks like he isn't sure of the answer himself. "Nathaniel.." "Okay, well Nathan I'll get to the point. Do you remember what happened in that room, to your arm?" Nathan seems to realize for the first time that she's holding his arm, the elbow joint tied tightly with bright orange cloth. The fact that he wasn't screaming from the pain was telling too. Best case scenario, he was in shock. Worst? Well... that's what she had wards for. "No.. no sorry, I don't.. I don't remember much of anything." Sigh. To be expected really but any road not ventured.

"Alright. Well, I need to get this cleaned up. Then we'll call your parents or something, alright?" Nathaniel nods dumbly, following her instructions obediently for the next fifteen or twenty minutes as she gets everything cleaned out as best she can. The infection disturbed her, because it wasn't going away as much as she'd like.. and it wasn't digging in deeper. The vague bluish white just lay there on his arm like scars, lifeless. It just wasn't normal. More questions.

Direct contact with Mithra burns like acid to demons. It'll also sting like bloody hell to anybody with extraplanar in their ancestry. In that light, Nathan's uncomfortable squirms and constant looks of pain whenever it was applied disturbed her. . but she was in no place to throw stones quite yet. A couple of hunters she knew were like that. "I swear that man makes a living out of being stabbed repeatedly."

"What?" Nathaniel looks properly horrified for a moment, and it's endearing enough that Spyder wants to slap herself for feeling that. "Nothing. Just talking to myself. I know it stings, but leave those bandages where they are okay? Why don't I get us both something to eat?" A blank stare, then a nod. Nathaniel gives her a shy flicker of a smile as she helps him up, and she narrowly avoids the impulse to ruffle his hair. The kitchen beckoned and she wandered with her charge in that direction.

I'm going to need that coffee.


	3. Waiting Screams

Hug the Nathaniel! He's mine, and also the original characters.. but none of Devil May Cry. I weep for the loss of so much silver hair. Le sigh.

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"So.. why don't you start at the beginning." Spyder maneuvered around in the uncomfortable little chair, grimacing over her mug of coffee while Nathaniel sat like a frightened bird, stock still in his chair eating a sandwich. "This is really good. What is it?" Spyder was halfway through listing the ingredients before she stifled a yawn. "Didn't answer the question." "No." Nathan admits sheepishly, eyes on his sandwich. Spyder takes another sip, putting the steaming cup on the scarred folding table delineating the 'kitchen' from the 'dining room'. "Okay, well let's start with something simple. Do you live with anyone, parents?" Nathaniel looks up from his sandwich staring blankly at the woman for awhile before dropping his eyes in shame. A little shake of his head.

Just brilliant. They probably pulled him right off the streets. "Nobody who takes care of you? Do you have a place to stay?" Again that long silence as the question hangs like lead in the air, crashing down occasionally with another of Nathaniel's frequent little denials. Most of the questions go like that. Spyder figures that he's either lying because he doesn't trust her or the more troubling idea that he didn't know any of the answers.

No parents, nobody whom he knows.. all she can get out of him is the warehouse, and then the apartment here. "So, let's try this again.." Another deep draw from the coffee, the floor creaking as she moves to get more. "Why don't you tell me what you do remember." Nathaniel nervously rubs his arms, frequently bumping against the bandages and flinching slightly like he'd been shocked.

"I.. I woke up in the warehouse."

When he awoke, he was made aware of two rules of the universe both of which applied to the cluttered, dark space he found himself in. Pain. Pain was a constant of his existence as he lie there on the floor, world shifting in and out of focus. Every time it did, the scene was different.. different people in different places, all of them in this dark, labyrinthine mess of shelves and boxes. Pain seemed not only a constant in his own universe, but to everyone else.. soft moans and the heaving shoulders, twitching limbs of suppressed sobs. Many of them seemed beyond even pain, staring listlessly through him and eachother at the far walls.

This went on for a long time. He couldn't say exactly how long but the crowding eased considerably as he lay there, the men in white robes periodically intruding on their pain only long enough to carry someone away from it. Nathaniel escaped into his own pain, which gradually eased somewhat as he moved deeper into the folds of the black cloth he had been laying in. Most of his nameless time was spent with it thrown over and about him like a blanket, listening to the quiet whispering that came in waves. Nobody bothered him except once, but when he didn't answer them they drifted off into the background again.

Finally when the pain stopped he was left with panic, because in it's wake was left nothing. No names, no places.. just silence in his head and quiet sobs from the outside separated from him by a thin black shroud. So out of fear, or loneliness or maybe even boredom he sat up with the black hanging over his face looking closer at the people who were left. They were like dolls, sitting up against shelves or slumped together against eachother.

A woman sat with a girl in her arms, gently rocking back and forth. Nathaniel stared at them, beginning to rock back and forth gently as he watched them whisper silently to eachother, mouths moving but sounds lost. His movements ceased as his eyes slid away, taking in the others.

They made other noises when the white robes came. Low guttural moans and high, piercing wails that hurt his ears. Hysterical sounds. Manic, thrashing sounds completely different from the time before. He didn't like the noises, and fled back under the covers until even their echoes had long since faded away. Whenever he cautiously emerged, the same doll was staring at him from the corner with the same intensity he had been watching the others. When she spoke to him, he realized it was the one who had tried to talk to him before. With no words inside him, Nathaniel simply stared voiceless when they approached

It was nicer than the other noises, the girl talking to him.. it made him feel as if he wasn't alone, not the only person in the world who did not stare into so far away. He began to fear a little however, after awhile.. with nothing in his head and no words to talk back to the girl that he might just be another doll, and should lay here on the floor and be still.

Pain briefly flared when her words finally expired. He hurt to see them gone. Nathaniel ran his fingers over the smooth, cold ground making little circles slowly in the dust. Occasionally he would be seized with a fit of panic when the white robes came. The words then came to him, spilled over. Often they'd been about the girl. Please do not make those sounds, I don't want to hear those sounds anymore. The slick, sliding black fabric tickles his nose. Nathaniel pulling it down further over his face to hide again, and lay against the black which promised never to make any of those terrible sounds, never to hurt him..

The girl began whispering again. The thought prickled a little, tickled slightly but not in an uncomfortable way. She hadn't been taken, and now the panic had left him with words to say. "I'... I.. I'm glad your still here, g...gale." was that her name? Another bolt of panic struck him, Nathaniel flinching against the cold floor as he scrambled to make sense of everything she had said before now that he had enough words. Yes, yes that was about right.

Gale made a sharp little surprised noise but that was okay.. he had really just been letting her talk at him for quite awhile now. Maybe she wasn't expecting anybody to talk back. Maybe that was what she did.. just talk to nobody. Although his next question about where they were gave a meaningless answer, it didn't matter. Every word further separated him from the dolls who were beginning to somewhat frighten him. Other questions gave equally meaningless answers.

Why were they here Gale couldn't answer.. she'd been taken by the white robes on her way home. She'd had to explain the word to him. It was a place, not like this room, where you belonged. Where your family lived. She'd had to explain that word too.. and he got the impression other talking people didn't have to have these words explained, because she would frequently squint her eyes in confusion. The white robes didn't like questions, or people talking so they stopped whenever they came near. They made angry static noises occasionally, but he couldn't really make out the words all that well. Maybe he didn't want to. Gale explained alot of things, including how the white robes would hurt them if they tried to go home. Nathaniel didn't want to hurt anymore, or see Gale be hurt so he sat there while keeping her company.

Periodically Gale would stop talking for awhile, with nothing to keep him company but the vague noises of the dolls whom he found talked among themselves occasionally in their own ways but never talked to him or Gale. Occasionally another sound could be heard, low and rustling around him murmuring into his ear. Unable to see anyone else close, he figured the black cloth was soaking up their words like he'd soaked up Gale's. He couldn't talk to it much. Gale explained that things like boxes or sheets don't talk, and he didn't want to upset her.

Everything save their own small corner was becoming scarier, and Nathaniel began finding himself repeatedly noticing the urge to escape this room. He would like to go home. The place Gale described to him as home sounded very nice, and she'd promised to take him there. "I want to leave now." he whispered to Gale while she was quiet. "I want to go home." "I do too.. but I can't think of how." Nathaniel thought about this for a long time, during which Gale spoke up again.

"You know.. I don't think I ever caught your name." Another panicked scramble through all the words they'd already shared together, but none of that could really tell him that. He really just stumbled over it, then clung to it like he had to Gale's name once he'd found it. "Nathaniel." Another long silence as he thinks over their escape from the scary room. "May.. maybe if they just hurt me, they won't hurt you and you can go home?" Pain wasn't welcomed but it wasn't scary. It couldn't stare at you. Gale apparently hated that idea, and wouldn't let him talk about it anymore.

To her credit, Gale didn't make any noises when the white robes came. Nathaniel however was beginning to understand why others made those sounds, especially when one was left alone while the other was taken away. He had pleaded them to take him as well, because whether he stayed or Gale stayed he would still be all alone again. He tried to make them stop hurting her as she struggled in their grip, biting and stomping the ground.

The angry static that was all that made up the words of the white robes. Pain, abrupt and unavoidable Little white flecks flashed and danced, settling where Nathaniel lay listening to the silence after Gale had gone. He made soft little noises of pain, having nobody to talk to except the cloak. That is what it referred itself as, along with a longer, wordier name than Gale that Nathaniel couldn't exactly pronounce. Tenebram. The pain receded, and it was like the voice explained.

He wouldn't have to wait very long to join her.

Nathaniel didn't speak after that, only listening as he was moved from dark room to dark room. They all looked similar and he began to wonder if all the world was like this. An endless series of shelves and boxes, pipes and rust inbetween home places. Tenebram couldn't answer questions like Gale could, partly because it didn't know the answers and partly because the white robes were so close. It was a vague murmur, and got tired very quickly.. but it was someone to talk to, even if it couldn't right now.

Finally they came to a room that hurt his eyes, white sand ground into the floor making intricate symbols on nearly every surface. It was cluttered in places with little bits of cloth, here and there. Pieces of white sticks. There were only white robes in this room, and his disappointment was obvious when he saw no sign of Gale or any of the others. When they at last took even the cloak from him, shoving him towards the circles in the middle while tossing Tenebram into a corner near the door he began finally to cry a little. It hurt to be alone.

While he stood there another white robe approached him. His robe was funny, all these black symbols like a reverse of everything on the walls grabbing his head. His hand came away with a red smear as he wiped a thumb across his nose. Standing up, the man radiated angry static as he seemed to be attacking another of the white robes. They and several others flinched back. Nathaniel was abruptly ejected from the room, air knocked from his lungs as he hit the cold concrete.

Now he was utterly alone. Not even the white robes had wanted him, and he still hadn't seen Gale.. and his only remaining speaker, the cloak, was still in the room. He cried a little more, lay there prone feeling the cold seep through his thin clothes, listening to the monotonous muddled voices coming from the bright room and the distant murmur of the cloak calling for him.

Nathaniel sat up again, arms wrapped around him as he staggered to his feet. He had no idea where to look for the others, but he had to go get Tenebram first. Maybe he could sneak out without any of the white robes noticing. After all, they hadn't seemed particularly interested. Seeing as cloaks and boxes don't talk, he wasn't surprised.

Opening the door proved to be a mistake however. The white robes were all kneeling before a brilliantly white shape, their own thunderous angry static beating down on his head trying to crush him into the floor just with words. "Who is responsible for this grievous sin?" Nathaniel clutched at the knob, keeping the door from opening more than a crack. The angry armored light continued to berate the white robes as Nathaniel located the clock near the door, but too far away to be grabbed without being seen. "But Lord Tyrael, we, we humbl--" Nathaniel flinches as a white robe collapses in a heap of sand at the touch of a long, gleaming arc of metal.

"How dare you speak that traitors name in my presence. Worshipers of false gods, are you all? Well.." the armored light gives a pleased smile. "I'm sure your familiar with how idolaters are treated." The words hurt the inside of his head, and Nathaniel fights not to make a sound as he bolts for Tenebram while the armored light is distracted with the white robes. Many are now making the same strangled sounds as the others they took away.

Just as his hands grip the cloak, he's summarily lifted off his feet and turned to face the armored light. They snort in disgust, revealed at much closer range as a person like the others only gleaming with a painfully harsh light, white wings dazzling so brightly Nathaniel cried out again in pain. "A demon, here? My.. Genevieve's lesser worshipers have such exacting standards." Another snort of disgust as the boy is thrown bodily against the wall, sliding down to the floor as the armored light turns away. Some of their prey escape into the hallway, with only the black symboled man staring bleakly where he sat near the fiery center of the room with the broken, tired eyes of the dolls.

It look a long time. It look a very long time for the noises to stop. Tenebram shielded him from most of it as he lay, petrified, huddled in the corner unable to escape without the armored light reaching him in time. They were toying with the man with black symbols. "Were I to even consider sparing you, what sacrilege led you to this name in particular? Or the greater sacrilege to think that a demon's soul would appease even a slave, let alone whom you have asked for.." The armored light gave a snickering laugh unlike anything related to mirth, standing behind them cutting into their skin with the edge of the metal. "Who, for obvious reasons.. is no longer taking such spoiled tributes."

"You know.. I really do not believe I shall spoil my hands dealing with you and your pet." Nathaniel cringes back as the armored light turns their gaze in his direction again, peering out from underneath the cloak to see no more of the leader but the light clutching an empty robe. The empty space near the armored light shatters, revealing a figure in tattered robes with a gaunt, blackened face. They looked like a bundle of black sticks tied together, a lurching skeleton with wide red eyes.

It swayed, lurching in place as one arm carried a similar blade as the armored light, only much darker and blue. Nathaniel distantly wondered if he'd turn to white sand if it touched him, cowering back against the wall. The demon was making a loud, constant wail of despair that the armored light seemed to ignore. "Destroy them all. None who fling their worship at that traitor may live."

The despair wavered, mixed with angry static and hate as the monster lurched towards him dragging the blade behind it across the bright runes. It seemed to take so long, so very long for the demon to reach him. Forever for it to raise it's weapon. Nathaniel stared up at it, sobbing quietly and burying himself in the cloak as the sword came down.

Pain, abrupt.. piercing agony much like he'd experienced waking up. Nathaniel sobbed quietly, awaiting whatever it felt like to turn into sand but feeling almost sorry for the thing that hurt so much, much worse than himself even now. Still wailing in that awful despair and hate, the sound following him down into unconsciousness. Nothing should have to hurt so much.

Nathaniel finished up his story. The rest really, had been seen by Spyder. She'd stopped the armored light from hurting anyone else. Nobody had done that, try to stop even the white robes, except her. So when he woke up, Tenebram told him to stay here.. to wait until the lady woke up. "You'd be able to go outside, and... and.. I didn't want to stay there anymore."

Spyder had been silent through the entire disjointed retelling, her face kept in a carefully neutral blank. She worked on the second cup of coffee, rolling the dregs around in the cup while not taking her eyes off Nathaniel. Chewing the inside of her lip, she gets up to wash out the mug merely going through the motions for awhile. The boy sits there eyes glancing around at the apartment, getting nervous and uncomfortable to be so far from the cloak. It was just in the next small room, and wasn't calling for him.. it'd be okay. Spyder wouldn't hurt him now, would she?

The hunter took a small ceramic plate off the window shelf, passing it inbetween her hands quietly. "That's an interesting story, Nathaniel." The boy continued to restlessly look around, starting to move out of the chair when he's quietly commanded. "Sit down." Immediate compliance. A brief, terrified look passes over his face. Spyder grips the sink looking out the small kitchen window, knuckles turning white from the strain.

Spyder relaxed her grip only so long as it took to smash the little ceramic tile against the sink, looking away as Nathaniel lets out a petrified yelp falling over himself in the attempt to flee a tangle of ghostly blue threads that seem to drop down from everywhere in the room at once, centered on where the little ceramic plates lay. A crackling electric surge shot through the sticky, ghostly threads when he was so enmeshed he could hardly see in front of him, the crackling roar of the energy swallowing his cries for Tenebram to help him. When the energy reached him at the end of the strands, everything went dark.


	4. Shattered Morning

If you've seen Ghost Rider, you've seen Blackheart. Blackheart is Marcus on evil laugh happy juice, visual reference speaking. I neither own Ghost Rider or Devil May Cry. I do own everything else. It's mine.. mine I tell you MWHAHWAHA.. cough.. cough. Ahem.

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"I'm just saying that it's 5:40 in the morning, and maybe it'd be better to get some sleep before making these sort of decisions." "What exactly is there to think about!? I want it gone, and if you won't banish it I'll settle for the temporary solution." Marcus sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

He turned away, looking over the railing separating the upper half of his house from the lower. "Your not being rational, Spyder. Didn't you already say he made no aggressive actions, seemed completely out of his element.. didn't even trip the wards?" "Wards are junk. I can't believe you trust-- " "I trust in experience, Spyder. Right now, I'm the one with more of it. That is why you brought him to me isn't it?"

Marcus frowned slightly turning back to the beleaguered hunter, whose tired posture clashed with her constantly darting eyes. She looked very much like an angry hawk whose cage had been banged on too frequently. "Look.. in the best case." Again, she preempts him. What was it with her and interruptions? "In best case, it's new. Snagged the boy at the warehouse. At worst, it's been active for awhile and just wasn't powerful enough to try eating my head. That's why the wards didn't go off, because it just didn't intend to do it THEN."

Marcus sighs again, with Spyder glaring him down for awhile with the things they aren't saying hanging in the silence between them. She began to pace the upper floor again, arms at her sides touching nothing. "May I continue?" The sorcerer's voice utterly neutral after waiting for Spyder to complete her third circuit. "What? Oh.. whatever. I suppose your going to say it's no threat to anyone." "He. Use proper english please."

The hunter ground to a halt, spinning on a heel. "How can you be so calm?! It's a seed. Remember? All fun and games until somebody's head splits open." "And you want me to banish him, without proof that he's done anything wrong." Spyder groans, lightly hitting her head against a bookshelf. "I'm not going to give it a chance.." her voice dies down in intensity, exhaustion creeping into the words. "It already fooled me once.. I can't afford to have that happen again."

Marcus slid over to a small coffee table in the middle of the room. He began chewing thoughtfully on a small, forgotten bar of chocolate that had sat there partially unwrapped. Snapping away another square of chocolate, he perched on the arm of a great overstuffed chair. "We're not talking about the same demon again, are we? Eventually, your going to have to tell me what happened in the warehouse. In fact, I believe I'll require it before making a decision to follow your impromptu orders."

Spyder just stares at him for awhile. A glaze flickers across her eyes, the faint shadow of a haunted expression. It surprised him, and worried him, a bit to see that look before it was swept away by anger. Spyder turned her face away, shutting her eyes. "No." There was another long silence.

"Besides.. whatever I say, you'll just do your own damn thing anyways." "Yes. That is one of the benefits of free will, Sarah." "I told you.." "Yes, I know.. but right now, your not acting like a respected demon hunter. Whatever you ran into gave you a jolt, and instead of thinking you just let your paranoia run rampant. I will talk to the boy. Then, tomorrow.. I will make a more informed decision."

Marcus moves away from the chair, touching her arm. She flinches away slightly with an unconscious shiver. His face briefly becomes like a mask, expressionless, hiding. "You are going to sleep, donut." Spyder shakes her head but allows herself to be lead over to a comfortable chair. "No.. not while it's.. he's.. no, I can't sleep. Deceivers.."

The hunter slumps into the heavy cushioning like a rag doll, jarring awake moments later. Her shocked, frightened stare makes Marcus wince slightly. It's only because of their long friendship that the fear doesn't immediately turn to homicidal rage. He'd gotten enough of guns pointed at his head for one lifetime in his early association with her. The hand is still reaching for the gun though, pawing for it while she talks until she realizes with whom she is speaking. "No. Stop that. I can't sleep while it's still on this plane. Come on Marcus, you know how bad upper caste can be."

The sorcerer snaps off another square of chocolate. It's days like this that make him wish he was better at suggestion. Even if.. no. The benefits would not outweigh the costs. Marcus began to smirk slightly despite himself. There were still other options. "I remember.. but your wasting all your intolerance on a little kid. Some unknown teenager. At this rate, you'll have to give up intolerance entirely for the rest of the month and then they'll be nothing to stop me from asking you out again."

At this point, Spyder really isn't in the frame of mind to be listening. Her own thoughts were tripping over themselves in a jumble. However that last sentence jars her temporarily out of her spiral. "Excuse me.. what?" This given all the weight of a metal boot about to crunch into somewhere painful. Marcus chuckles wryly, having been mentally counting backward from five. "Nevermind Spyder. Get some sleep." Just words now but they seemed enough. Marcus gives a mute sigh of relief as the hunter finally succumbs to her exhaustion, slumping back against the chair. Offering something better like the bed or a blanket would have probably gotten him shot.

The paper of the chocolate wrapper rustles as Marcus walks downstairs, meticulously refolding it around the remaining chocolate as he head into another section of the house, into the lower reaches and the basement.

The fun thing about extradimensional space pockets was he could separate his work and the rest of his mild mannered life, such as it was. He often wondered what his life would be like if he really was what he drew all this facade about. Perhaps a starving artist somewhere, or a musician. He had always meant to be a musician once..

Still.. the world around kept being the world around despite who you were, and it gave Marcus some small measure of satisfaction that he was able to make a difference in that world. Still, thank some of the minor powers for extradimensional pockets. If Spyder had to be regularly confronted with the objects of her intolerance and hatred on a regular basis, he wouldn't get to tease her nearly as much. The saying still held quite true. Out of sight, out of mind. The memory of her flinching away burned, but he knew better than to kneel to such an emotion as vengeance. Whatever had hurt her though.. in the past..

The basement door swung open into an impossible space with a quick series of small twists of the knob. The laboratory as he had built it was was rather ironically cramped as extradimensional spaces go, but it was the largest field he could conceal from other extraplanars. Social as he seemed, having regular visitors would really do nothing for his disposition.

The boy Nathaniel was awake again, huddled in the center of a small glass prison used for summoning. The glass itself was surrounded by the containment wards, and it somewhat resembled a ship in a bottle though instead of a ship there was a small artificial landscape carpeted with grass and dotted with miniature trees.

Nathaniel flinched away from him when he appeared inside the bottle, cowering against the ground awaiting punishment. Marcus frowned, feeling a pang of sympathy. It did nothing to erode his usual caution. He did not approach or retreat. Instead, what he did do was sit down taking out the bar of chocolate again.

Nathaniel continued huddling for awhile, but as he became less convinced of onrushing torment he began to move around enough to get a better look at his captor. After another unmeasurable pause and silence he gathers himself up, sitting still hunched forwards careful not to look directly at the sorcerer save for quick worried glances every once in awhile between his thorough inspections of the grass.

Marcus breaks off another square, the small snap causing Nathaniel to flinch. When it happens three or four times without negative effect, he begins to watch each little brown square be consumed through the sides of his vision. When the curiosity grows stronger than the fear, Nathaniel whispers. "What are you doing?" flinching back at the end of the question. Marcus doesn't answer immediately, waiting for the boy's shoulders to further relax before replying. "Having some chocolate. Would you like some?"

Nathaniel seemed to be thinking about it, turning his head a little to the side as his gaze swept over the grass and trees. He gestured nervously to it. "Can I? I mean.. is it only for scary people?" Marcus mouths the words to himself, thinking it over as Nathaniel sits there nervously fidgeting. "Oh." The sorcerer softly exclaims at last. "I see." The boy looks curiously over at him, blinking a little in confusion as none of his questions produced angry static or hissing snakes.

Marcus smiles and to Nathaniel, it's very disconcerting to see the side of the scary person's other face stretch back wider than the other. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised that you can see that. Don't be afraid. I'm not going to eat you." Nathaniel nods obediently but once he's looked he can't stop staring at the teeth, and the eye... just that one side looking so different from Marcus's other face which looks like anybody else he's seen. "And no, it's not just for scary people. It just happens to be a favorite of mine. Here."

Nathaniel takes the offered chocolate, still staring. Finally, he comes to a realization. "Your hiding." "What?" Nathaniel stops talking for awhile because of the blissful contentment that comes over him from eating the chocolate. It feels good. It feels like Gale and Tenebram talking to him, and the lady carrying him out of the dark before she hurt him. When the last bit of flavor fades his thoughts start to bump against eachother again, and he continues.

"I don't want to get hurt, or see things.. or hear them. So I hide with Tenebram. I just didn't think scary people..." "Had to hide too?" Marcus chuckles bitterly, looking thoughtful. "Well. There are things I don't want to hear or see either. Even Spyder, um. The lady doesn't really see this. She knows, but it's too much for her partial tolerance of halfbreeds to actually see it." "Halfbreeds?" Nathaniel asks, blinking in confusion. "Scary people." Marcus explains. "Some are born this way. I.. actually.. it was my choice to look like this. Side effect of trying to save the world in quote 'the wrong way'"

The boy just stares at him uncomprehendingly, but Marcus didn't really mind. It was better than judging. That's what people who understood always did, whether they said it or not. "Don't worry about it Nathaniel. Maybe it'll make sense later. Would you like some more chocolate? I'd like to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind."

"Yes please."

Morning was death in birdsong. Spyder thought about laying her head on the counter, but as she gripped the coffee mug sitting there in the bright, sunlit kitchen it would only serve to block her vision of the large picture windows set into the walls. Wards had kept her alive thus far but right now she didn't really trust them.

The thought had struck her quickly after awakening. If they'd lain quiet while she'd dragged the seed into her house, what else would it lay quiet for. Lesser demons, Deceivers? Deceivers could just wait, just patiently wait and monologue or start to chat with you while they set up their grand little traps which they thought were so endlessly clever.

Marcus still hadn't shown up which wasn't like him. He was such a chipper morning person it make her vaguely nauseous. That pretty much summed up how she felt still being in his house, having succumbed to sleep instead of first making sure everything was safe. Some people might find it insulting to have someone recheck their wards, but she personally found it insulting when demons burst into somewhere that was technically 'safe'. She should have rechecked the wards, or at least gone back to her apartment.

There was an array of breads she was eying from where she sat, and the raisin bread was calling to her. Hmm.. toast. After another pull of the coffee and the latest stab of the migraine from last night picking up where it left off though in lesser scale, she stood up to fix herself the aforementioned toast. A little while later with toasted bread firmly in hand she leans back on the counter, staring out at the windows. She'd already far past dawn, but she caught herself thinking of it staring out at the afternoon light pouring into the kitchen. Dawn never seemed to mean the same thing to hunters.

Some saw it as relief. Other.. that they had fought all night, and the nightmares didn't evaporate with the bright sunshine, and all there was to do was fight until it was done. Sort of a pyhrric victory. It simply didn't mean anything to her. It was light, and there were more civilians around, and there wasn't as much of a visibility issue. That was it. She couldn't afford any other 'meanings' to tie herself up in. Too busy staying alive.

Sure.. she could handle a few without problems. Demons usually came in packs. Demons had leaders too.. and leaders could do much more than kill you.

"That's what explosives are for." her voice cheerful as she took another bite out of the toast.

"Well, you do seem rather fond of explosions." Marcus comes into the kitchen passing her on the way without a second glance. Immediately drawn to the freshly brewed coffee, he moves to make himself a cup. Spyder waits, chewing thoughtfully on toast. When Marcus has managed to craft the entire cup without a sarcastic comment or his usual 'I told you so' the comfortable silence shifts downward into an awkward one. He sits down, facing away from her staring out the windows with the cup clasped loosely in both hands. The muscles on the back of his hand twitch slightly. She cant believe this, but Spyder is actually the one to begin the conversation this time. It's quite the first.

"Good morning."

A pause, then. "Good morning Spyder."

Not the usual 'donut' or 'cupcake' or whatever bakery good he's bound and determined to attribute to her. He got popped in the nose once for honeymuffin, which had started this whole business in the first place. Spyder finishes her coffee and toast still leaning against the counter, studying him. He looks so tired. No, not so much tired as... sad... oh. Oh, damnit. The hunter quickly looks away pulling in the comfortable decor of the kitchen.

The atmosphere tightened. Marcus continued to drink his coffee in silence looking out the window. Spyder looked down at her shoes, straightened up her clothing and put the empty mug on the counter. Turned away from him, she murmurs staring at the dishes. "I told you so."

Marcus sighs, turning to stare into the back of her coat. "It's not that simple, Spyder. It's--"

"How can I put this? Yes, or No?"

"...yes."

"Then do it. Why haven't you done it already? Why--" The breath catches in her throat as the answer plows into her head like an oncoming training. Spyder fidgets with the drawers, opening and closing a few just to peer into the contents inside. She never really saw much of his house. Just the parts she needed to see.. or wanted to see.

Was he so far gone that he couldn't do something as clear cut as this? She hadn't been paying attention.. maybe she should have warned him better. "It's okay, Marcus. Just let me deal with it okay? It doesn't have to be like this." Marcus blinks, shaking his head slightly as if he cant have heard properly. "What? Spyder.. what are you talking about?"

Now it's Spyder's turn to sigh, murmuring to the plates on the counter. "What did it offer you?" she makes a flippant gesture, running her hand through her hair as if all this was unimportant, all this was just a game, just a joke. "Just curious." Her hands were digging slightly into the slick tiled veneer of the counter. When she felt a hand on her shoulder, the guns were in her hands even before she turned around. Her face was a cold, implacable mask.

To her vague surprise, Marcus stood there calmly staring down the barrel of her modified firearm. Her other hand was occupied shoving its twin into his stomach. He didn't move, and didn't look scared. She hated it when they didn't look scared. It meant they were planning something. "What did it offer you?" Her voice full of the fury she wouldn't allow to show on her face, waiting for the shift, for the mask to melt away as he triggered some spell or other. It'd be the only one he'd ever get off again.

"Nothing." The trace of a hollow, sepulchral rattle in his voice. "There's nothing in there." Spyder tilted her head slightly at him, eyes narrowing in confusion as she tried to piece together the meanings. "Thats.." The Mandible pointed at his face tremors slightly. Marcus continues, his voice tight with controlled anger. "Not possible? Come on, Spyder." the word was almost a growl at the end. "I think we've past disbelief by now." She doesn't dare lower her guns. Until the world makes sense again, there was no point in believing anything that he said. What made sense in her mind, what her compassion had driven her to do, what she should have seen earlier.. that made more sense than Marcus just calmly standing there, telling her that it didn't have company inside it. Company of a vastly bad sort.

"What do you want me to say, Spyder?" his voice became bitter, standing calm and unwavering before his impending death. "Do you want me to cackle? Would it please you to know my evil master plan?" he lets out a weary sigh, his eyes darkening and growing light as he struggles to control his temper. Throughout the entire conversation, he was looking at her rather than the guns. "Nathaniel is a seed, but not for any of the high lords.. or any of the valeth. There's some possession risk in that arm of his, but the demonic energy is so weak and driven so deeply dormant I can't even find it anymore. He's empty, Spyder. An empty shell. A little kid scared of the world, and scared of you." he chuckles faintly now, the sound ironic. "Which I suppose is somewhat warranted."

The Mandible tremored again. Spyder didn't blink though her eyes were stinging, her arms starting to ache. The clinical nature of this information breaks through her simulation of how exactly she was going to get out of the center of a sorcerer's haven without any active orbs and battered nearly depleted wards. Spyder narrowed her eyes again, brow furrowing in thought. "That's not.. they don't make seeds unless they use them. One can't be just wandering around."

"The fingerprints of sorcery are all over him Spyder. Some other sorcerer, an alchemist, made him but never finished the rituals. What I talk to.. is probably what remains of who they sacrificed to make him. It explains Tenebram too. The cloak is alchemic. The sword from the warehouse was demonic. You know those two don't mix well." His voice had ratcheted down into a low whisper, and even standing this close Spyder had to strain to hear him speak. Surprised at herself too.. that she was still letting him talk when she had been so sure.. so utterly sure..

"Then whats the problem? You hate those guys. You love pulling their little spells apart like so much evil, laugh happy taffy." "I wont do it. If you must.. do what you have to do.. but I wont destroy an innocent soul. I won't send him to a place he never belonged to." Spyder shakes her head. "This can't be it. You've.." she trails off. He had to have some angle here. Marcus was smart. He should know better than to feed her lines like this.. what was this, delay tactics? He was just one sorcerer. Why couldn't she just get on with it?

"What's really going on here?" Marcus rolls his eyes, shoulders shaking up and down once with repressed laughter. "It's all a setup, Sarah. I only befriended you so that Baal could spy on you. You kicked it's ass the last time and despite catching a manic sense of hysterical paranoia, got on with your life instead of letting it crush your spirit entirely. I, like everything else in your life, am solely put on this planet to be out to get you."

The Mandible wavered, then dropped. The other soon followed. She didn't vanish them. It felt somewhat comforting to still be holding onto the smooth black carapace of the grips. Spyder gave him a long critical look and finally turned away heading for the door. Marcus relaxes, feeling that if she was willing to turn her back to him he must have done something right. He stared at the dishes on the counter, rolling his shoulders forwards and back as he picked up the empty mug. The door distantly slammed.

She was going to hurt for this one, and he really couldn't help her. It remained to be seen if she would even speak to him again, even if it had been she who had dived screaming off the deep end. "She'll be alright.." The only lie he'd told the entire morning. "Yeah... she'll be okay." he turned, and began to wash the dishes. One of the cups shatters in his hands, driving in a couple deep shards of ceramic. Expressionlessly, he pulls them out of his palms letting the blood drip into the sink.

Baal.. the lord of deception. Marcus shook his head, grimacing with concentration as he forced himself to calm down. Vengeance did nothing but feed things like them. He would not kneel to a base desire such as wanting to punch it's innumerable eyes black for hurting Spyder.. or wanting to hurt Spyder for being such a terrified fool. He would have liked to have been there when Baal went down though.. and if it ever came back, he might do more than just buy a ticket to THAT show.

"Now where did I put the lemony fresh?"

------------------------------------------------------\\\ To be Continued.


End file.
